


A play in three acts

by pleasebekidding



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Dalarenzo, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My brain wants Dalarenzo things so badly. But in my head, Alaric is hurt and jealous and hard to work with. So, here, I found a way to make it work.<br/>--<br/>AU: Alaric never went back when the veil dropped. He is human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A play in three acts

Even when things were calm, things were never really _calm_.

Damon had a constant course of electricity running through his body. Latent rage. End of the Whitmore line, end of the Augustine project, end of the fucking travellers and their fucking bullshit and everyone more or less where they belonged; Elena and Bonnie at school, Jeremy at the Lockwood bachelor pad, Stefan and Caroline off finding themselves or finding each other or whatever it was they were looking for, naked and sweaty in a string of hotel rooms across the country.

Enzo making himself at home on the couch in the library.

Out of place: Alaric, hidden in his room. Possibly drunk, but who could even tell? He rarely came downstairs. Harbored a silent disapproval of Enzo as fierce as if he’d actually ever say it.

Damon slumped into his favorite armchair like a rag doll and Enzo stared, and stared, with that glint in his eye. _Let’s eat_ , that glint said, or _remember the night we killed Aaron Whitmore and I fucked you on the hood of the Camaro_. Always saying something, even when he was silent.

“Shut up,” Damon said, reaching for a bottle.

“Didn’t say a word, mate,” was Enzo’s reply; that, and the little tug on his top lip. _Let’s hunt_.

Alaric was the angel on one shoulder, Enzo was the devil on the other, and Damon was sick of everything.

\--

Not that Alaric minded having been hurled into the land of the living again but he’d have been a hell of a lot happier if it had been the world he’d left behind. Not that he’d have asked to be the unstoppable original Mikaelson cousin; human, that part was good, but everything else was overwhelming.

He sat by his own grave a few times. It was strange. He wondered, if he dug it up; would there be an empty coffin, or would he be there, mostly disintegrated?

He read, he thought, he tried to work out what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.

Damon’s humanity was in and out, even cured of the Ripper virus. His new buddy – sorry, sorry, _old_ buddy Enzo wasn’t helping. Enzo seemed to love what he was; and more power to him, hip hip hooray for murderous vampire types but Alaric was so sick of watching him drag Damon down that same path again. Killing not out of necessity but sheer joy.

He’d come so far.

Alaric felt unbelievably old, some days, and so fucking young on others. Often he felt like a character who’d been written out of his own life, and brought back as an afterthought, with no real consideration to plot.

More than anything else, he felt tired, surplus to needs, and altogether too sober. One out of three could be dealt with.

\--

Alaric was the problem. That much would be clear to a blind man, and Enzo was very far from blind. Damon loved him. Not that loving humans was a problem per se, really, a warm body was a warm body and the heart would always want whatever it bloody well wanted. Not that Alaric, the gutless, selfish arsehole seemed to notice.

He and Alaric rarely crossed paths. Seemed to suit them both fine. In fact, Enzo really thought everyone would be better off if Alaric took over the boarding house completely, and he and Damon hit the road. But Damon wouldn’t leave; trying to be the better man, more’s the pity.

It almost would have been better if Alaric had stayed a vampire. Almost. Trying to kill everyone all of the time would have been a problem, Enzo supposed, although he would have made a decent source of food while Damon was on his vampire blood bender. Enzo snorted at the ceiling.

Only one thing for it, really.

With Alaric brooding in his room, he pinned Damon to the couch, and reminded him of another half a dozen things he’d sworn he’d have done back in the cells, had metal bars not kept them damnably apart. Distraction could be a vampire’s best friend. And Damon made the most delicious noises.

Who needed humans, really?

\--

Damon slipped into Alaric’s room, and dropped dramatically onto the bed, waking him. He apparently hadn’t made it under the covers the night before and he was gloriously bear-like, and had his fly open, so presumably, he was reacquainting himself with his old friend Mr Right Hand. He opened one eye, and closed it again, but made no move to throw Damon off the bed.

“What.”

Had to be a question but it was missing that inflection.

“What-what? Can’t I come and visit? When Stefan’s this broody he’s always so thrilled for my company. Ever planning to come downstairs and get to know my other BFF?”

Alaric grabbed the book he’d apparently fallen asleep with last night and opened it, dropping it on his face. He grunted. Very Alaric-y. “No.”

“Rude.”

“He seems very fond of killing people.”

“So am I. You got over it.”

Alaric pulled himself up onto one elbow, threw the book aside. “No, I don’t. You… changed. You’ve saved people I care about. It’s different.”

Damon scowled, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Still a vampire, Ric.”

“I know. And you know what? So’s Caroline.” Alaric dropped down onto his back again, and Damon decided it was about as much of an invitation as he was going to get. He rolled over and caged Alaric with all four limbs. Expecting resistance.

He got none.

That kiss – after, how long, a year? More? Time telescoped and… whatever the opposite of _telescoped_ was, and Damon couldn’t even remember why they’d stopped; oh, yeah, Alaric died, and Damon got the girl. Alaric tilted his head to deepen what was already a memorable kiss, rolled his body up to meet Damon’s. And then stopped.

“I can’t,” he said. Damon dropped a kiss on his neck; almost guaranteed to get him in the mood.

“I can’t,” he said again. “You think I can’t hear you two?”

_Shit fuck balls._

“Ric…”

“Don’t. I’m gonna go. As soon as I work out where.”

\--

Of course, that was the problem; where to go. Alaric’s life had been totaled. He wasn’t needed here, and _here_ was too… problematic. His parents had died, a couple of days apart, while he’d been gone. His best friend back home thought he was dead and honestly the thought of starting again somewhere new – having to lie about his entire past, having to start again, maybe even with a new name – in addition to being the most sensible option, was also the least attractive.

He was making breakfast. Just the typical; bacon, eggs, toast, truckload of Tabasco sauce, when Enzo slipped into the kitchen and sat on the counter.

Alaric gritted his teeth. “Enzo,” he said, and it was intended to sound polite, but there was a hint of something like a warning in his tone. Enzo ignored it, reaching for a piece of bacon. Alaric gritted his teeth some more, took his plate, carried it out to the dining table.

Enzo followed. He took a seat, put his feet up on the table top, eating the bacon in the smallest possible bites. The crispiest fucking rasher, too.

“Starting to get the feeling you don’t like me, mate.”

Alaric didn’t look up from his plate, but he grunted.

“Makes no sense. Everybody likes me. I’m a likable bloke.”

Alaric looked up, tried to keep the anger from his jaw. “I don’t know you. I only know Damon was on his way – no, he wasn’t. Damon was a good guy until you came along and… you know what? I’m not having this conversation with you.” He stuffed another mouthful of food into his mouth. He barely tasted it before he swallowed it. “Forget it. I told Damon. I am out of here. I just need to figure out where the fuck I’m gonna go,” he added, and hoped the trace of misery wasn’t recognizable to anyone who didn’t know him well.

Enzo took his feet off the table, and leaned, arms crossed, chin on the back of his hand. “He’ll follow you.”

Alaric gave up on breakfast.

“No, he won’t,” he said. “Because I’ll ask him not to. Excuse me,” he said, and he felt a pang of genuine regret as he dropped the rest of his breakfast in a trash, and retreated back to his room, to spend a couple of hours on the heavy bag Damon had so sensibly brought over from the loft.

Where the fuck was he supposed to go?

\--

The solution to the entire problem was so elegant that only a genius like Enzo could have ever reached it. He sat smugly in the library one afternoon for a couple of hours, enjoying the sun on his skin and planning the whole thing out. Well, congratulating himself on his own genius, at any rate.

Alaric would forgive him one day.

Damon found him there in the library, and poured drinks. Ah, so refreshing, to be able to have a damn drink any time he wanted, and especially from a collection as rich as this one. Damon eyed him suspiciously.

“You look… pleased with yourself,” he said. “What?”

“Just reveling in my freedom, mate,” he said. “Just enjoying the day. Problem?”

Damon didn’t respond, just sat alongside him on the couch. He sipped his bourbon, and gave a pleased little purr Enzo wanted to lick the rest of the way out of his mouth. He sat with his eyes closed, looking marginally more relaxed than he had in a week – which was to say, about three inches of the stick up his arse had been removed.

“Our good friend Alaric is planning to leave,” Enzo said. “Did he tell you?”

“He’s a big boy,” Damon answered, which wasn’t so much an answer as a refusal to answer. “He can do whatever he likes.”

“And you’re just fine with it.”

Damon said nothing at all to that, which was more of an answer than his previous, anyway.

\--

Damon spent the afternoon at Whitmore doing relationship post-mortem number 562 with Elena, and when he came home, exhausted and irritated (yes, it was over, she’d made it clear; and frankly, Damon had more or less moved on so why did they have to keep talking about it?) he knew there was something terribly wrong. Lights mostly off, and the fireplace roaring (since he was the only one who bothered with it, it was a little spooky).

He’d actually gone to ask her if she had any idea how the hell he could help Alaric; but she was going through a self-centered staged, and couldn’t be drawn on the topic. So he’d endured the barrage, snacked on a couple of her classmates and headed back to Mystic Falls.

The house was too quiet. And he could smell blood.

“There you are,” Enzo said, from his place on the couch. He stood, glass in hand, and walked languidly across the room, taking a sip. “I was wondering when you might get home. Got you a present.” He pushed the glass into Damon’s hand, and unexpectedly (really, they barely kissed when they were fucking, the occasional brush-past was totally unheard of) kissed Damon full on the mouth.

Damon flinched just slightly.

“Enjoy,” he said, and breezed past.

Damon turned to the fireplace, and that was when he saw it – a pair of feet.

He blew across the small space to crouch at Alaric’s side, but Alaric was entirely dead, neck snapped, mouth smeared with blood. Damon recognized the scent. Enzo’s blood.

“Damn you,” he said, but he couldn’t lie; it was a well-appreciated gift. Damon’s heart beat in his mouth for a solid three hours, waiting for Alaric to wake up.

\--

When Alaric sat up, although it was abrupt, he wasn’t particularly concerned. Resurrection was second nature to him, by now. It did, however, occur to him that he had a sickening taste of blood in his mouth, and suddenly, he remembered he had no ring.

Enzo. Fucking _Enzo_. Alaric scrabbled to his hands and knees, trying to wipe long-dried blood away from his mouth, and a pair of familiar arms, strong as steel bands, closed around his body.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, absurdly.

“Everything,” Damon said, nuzzling into his neck. “You’ll get used to it.”

Alaric let his eyes close, let himself lean into Damon’s body. Let himself draw the sort of comfort he hadn’t dared to in months. He felt his gums ache, his throat. It felt like he’d been punched. _So hungry_.

“I know.”

“I didn’t say that out loud,” Alaric said, frowning, pulling away, leaning against the couch.

“You didn’t need to. I can get you some blood.”

Alaric felt tears prickle his eyes. “No,” he said. “I can’t.”

Damon got closer, straddled his thighs, pressed against him like a cat. Wrapped his arms around Alaric’s neck. “Please,” he whispered. “Please. Please. Fuck, don’t make me beg, you dick. This could… we can all just go, leave Mystic Falls behind. Just go. Maybe all Enzo needs is a bitchy ex-history teacher on his ass to keep him from his murder sprees. Works for me. Mostly.”

Perhaps Alaric was always going to end up here, eventually, making this choice. He waited. A minute. Three. Ten. Times ceased to have meaning.

“Okay,” he said. “Get me some blood.”

\--

_Three weeks later_

\--

_Enzo loves driving. This car more than any of the bloody awful newer models; automatic, who ever heard of anything so dull? He’s speeding down a highway, can’t remember the number. Damon, in the passenger seat, has his feet up on the dash, and there is no mask in the world that could contain his smug._

_Alaric lies across the back seat. Looks to be dozing, but Alaric never really sleeps. Damon reaches back occasionally to trail a hand over Alaric’s thigh._

_“I’m hungry,” Alaric says._

_“You’re always hungry,” Damon answers, and there is easily fifteen percent more smug in his tone._

_“It’s one of his best qualities,” Enzo adds. “That and the yoga thing.”_

_“I don’t do yoga,” Alaric argues, and he sits up, reaches over Enzo’s shoulder, scratches lightly over his nipple with a broad, blunt nail, drawing an appreciative hiss. “I’m just not two hundred years old and creaky.”_

_Time to stop for a bite, soon, and to see if they can destroy another hotel room. All they have is time._


End file.
